Surviving the Varia - A Hairdresser's Guide
by Starchains
Summary: 'The Varia's Hairdresser' rewritten. After the war, Harry starts a comfortable new life as a hairdresser in a little Italian salon. He wasn't expecting the Varia to walk in and take an interest, turning his calm new life upside down.
1. Chapter 1

It was time for Bel to get his hair cut. When Squalo had joined the Varia, he'd been told about the interesting people he would be able to kill, the new places he would see, the strong opponents to fight, new sword styles to learn. No one had mentioned the babysitting. With the Boss out of action (and that burned every time he thought about it, so he didn't think about it much. It didn't keep him up at night, or make his breath catch at random moments) Squalo was in charge. That meant paperwork, mission requests, and all the other irritations he had expected to come with the position. He hadn't realised that it also meant listening to Lussuria bitch about his newest boyfriend and making sure that Bel ate his vegetables. Because somehow, he'd become a parental figure to the most messed up child in existence. If you'd asked him at twelve what he thought his life would be like after defeating the Sword Emperor, this would not have been his answer. Most days, he didn't mind the life he'd somehow found himself living. This was not one of those days.

Squalo had to make sure Bel was educated – which generally meant searching through the Varia for someone with the appropriate knowledge or skill, and praying that Bel didn't kill them for being wrong, or boring. It was a way to thin the herd, and surviving a lesson with Bel had become something of a rite of passage among the Varia. One member of the Rain Squad had managed to teach Bel three whole hours of advanced Maths without incurring more than light injuries, a feat that hadn't been repeated since by anyone.

He had to make sure that Bel ate properly, and the brat was almost as fussy as Boss. He also had to try and make sure that his entertainment was all age appropriate, a task which somehow managed to be even harder. Giving Bel the Talk was the most excruciatingly embarrassing half-hour of Squalo's life. He had only done it because Bel had threatened to ask Lussuria if Squalo didn't explain why the girl was screaming like that if there was no blood involved. Squalo himself had endured two minutes of Lussuria's version of the 'Birds and the Bees' when he had first entered the Varia, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone. With his pale skin, the blush had been humiliatingly obvious, and Lussuria had teased him about it for months. The only good thing about the encounter was the wonderful four hours teaching Levi why he shouldn't leave his porn lying around. Of course, he had then been forced to take over the duties of the Lightning Guardian while Levi recovered.

And now, the hardest task of all. Bel did not like having his hair cut. He was terrified of someone seeing his eyes (which had led to the deaths of three hairdressers). Squalo wasn't sure exactly where the fear came from, but he was willing to humour it. He just wished the boy would choose a more convenient way to cover his eyes; he had refused to consider sunglasses or coloured contacts. Bel didn't like someone having scissors near his neck, which they all understood, and was why the Varia always visited the hair dresser in groups. The instincts of an assassin were hard to defeat. The spoiled Prince didn't think that any of the peasants were worthy of cutting his hair in the first place. But it had almost reached his mouth, and Squalo was tired of hearing him bitch about it. None of the Varia had any skills in hair dressing, and the one time Bel had tried to do it himself, he had managed to cut himself with one of his knives. Squalo wasn't willing to sacrifice sixteen Varia members (and face the damn paperwork) every time Bel needed a trim, so he insisted on taking it to a professional.

Lussuria had made the appointment without telling the receptionist who was coming. The last time they had made that mistake, the salon had closed down the day before their appointment. Lussuria had hunted down the hair dressers to make an example, but Bel still didn't get a haircut. Squalo disliked wasting effort like that.

Bel had been whining the whole car ride, and combined with Lussuria's trilling, Squalo had one hell of a headache by the time they pulled up to the salon. He turned to talk to Bel before he unlocked the car. After the first time he had driven with Bel, he had learned of the beauty of child locks. Normally, the Prince slept through car rides, but on the rare occasions when he was too wired to drop off, he was a nightmare.

"Voi! Behave. No knives, no tantrums. We go in, get your hair cut, and leave. I don't need any blood today, got it?"

"I don't have to do what you say." Dear God, the brat was pouting. Had he learned about teenage rebellion from trashy American movies?

"If you can't manage this, brat, then we'll go home and I'll let Lussuria cut your hair." Bel looked disturbed at Lussuria's exclamation of glee. Squalo didn't blame him, the sound sent shivers down his own spine.

"What will the Prince get if he cooperates?" Bel tried hard to hide the tremble in his voice.

He was obviously genuinely upset instead of just complaining. The third person only came out when something was really bothering him, so Squalo relented.

"I'll let you watch the Saw movies this evening. We can marathon them." Bel had been wanting to watch them since they came out. The responsible-adult side of Squalo had refused him. But that part had never been very loud, and it wasn't like movies could make Bel more disturbed and bloodthirsty than the little Prince already was. As far as Squalo was concerned, they were more likely to give him wet dreams than nightmares. Which was disturbing enough for him to want to retract his offer.

Taking a deep breath, Squalo unlocked the car door and led his little band into the salon. Mission – get Bel's haircut. First obstacle – receptionist. As he turned to the girl and gave her his least terrifying smile, that still made her go pale, he saw two men vanishing into the back room. If they were planning on a quickie while there were customers waiting, Squalo might have to kill them for sheer unprofessionalism. He knew better than to expect anything approaching Varia Quality from civilians, but he still had standards.

As the woman fluttered and sputtered and was generally useless, Squalo felt his hand twitching for a sword. He had told Bel not to kill anyone, which meant that he wasn't allowed to either, but he'd be damned if he wasn't tempted.

"Voi! Where the hell is the hairdresser then!" Squalo was hanging onto his patience by a thread when one of the two back-room-boys came towards them with a smile. Black hair, green eyes, five foot five, this would be Harry Evans. Born in England, raised by his Aunt and Uncle, attended a private school, took a course in hair dressing and moved to Italy three months ago, hired by this salon just last week. Squalo ran through the key points in his head automatically. Running a background check on someone holding a sharp object near your neck was just common sense.

Evans had obviously come to rescue the useless receptionist, as he told her to leave, talking to her like you would to a skittish animal. Or like a normal person would to a skittish animal. None of the Varia were very good at the 'calm, soothing voice' thing.

As he turned to look at the group with a bright smile on his face, Squalo fought the urge to slice him up. Who the hell smiles at assassins? The man either had the best customer service skills in the world, or no sense of self-preservation at all.

"The princess needs a haircut. Can you handle that, scum?" Squalo decided to be nice, giving the man a chance to back away before he got hurt and Squalo had to clean his blood off the floor.

Bel immediately chimed in. "The prince does not need a haircut." Third person again. Crap. All this time wasting had let his nerves build back up. If the hairdresser wasn't careful, Squalo would be scraping his bloody remains off the walls by the end of the day. Cleaning up after Bel's hits was always a nightmare, and his tantrums were worse.

To Squalo's shock, the smile didn't drop as Evans led them over to the sofas. He asked the other back-room-boy to close the salon on his way out. Was he just trying to help his friend? His attitude was more of a leader evacuating his people from a danger zone. His background check hadn't shown anything that would lead to that kind of response, so Squalo was confused. As the Captain of the Varia, he couldn't afford to have gaps in his information, even about something as insignificant as a hairdresser.

"My name is Harry," he started. Squalo cut him off. He knew that already, and with Bel so wound up, they had a limited time frame to get this done.

Evan's didn't take offence, which was rare. The man was getting more and more interesting to the Rain Officer. Squalo was even more stunned when he asked Bel what he would like directly. Most civilians only saw Bel's age, and talked over his head. Most civilians didn't have a very long life expectancy around Prince the Ripper.

Bel insisted that he didn't want a haircut. Distress or not, Squalo was tempted to take the brat over his knee. Did he think that the rest of them wanted to be here either? Lussuria might enjoy the day out, but he sure as hell wasn't dragging him here for fun. The only good thing so far had been that Luss had kept his mouth shut.

Of course, Squalo should have known better than to tempt fate. His headache burst back into life as Lussuria started cooing at Bel, as though that had ever encouraged him to do anything except the opposite of what he was asked. For a martial artist, trained to read the tiniest movement in his opponent's body and react accordingly, Lussuria could be extraordinarily bad at reading people. That or he was just a troll. Squalo hadn't decided which.

And of course Belphegor had to start throwing a tantrum. A Varia Quality assassin he might have been, but the Prince was still a twelve year old boy, and an incredibly spoilt one at that. Most of the time, he took pride in acting like an adult, but occasionally he threw a hissy fit any three year old would be proud of. If today was one of those times, Squalo was going to cut the brat's hair himself. With his sword.

Squalo decided that the hairdresser had either the biggest balls known to man, or with no self-preservation instincts at all, because he completely ignored Bel's tantrum, which had been known to send trained assassins fleeing in terror. The civilian sounded confident that he could cut Bel's hair without seeing his eyes. Squalo didn't think he would be so calm if he knew that his life literally depended on it, and he was bemused by the fact that he didn't seem the least bit shaken by the bizarre request. At least his calm relaxed Bel before the tantrum could really get started.

Evans looked a little like a deer in headlights as the Varia stared at him. Most civilians would have run away screaming from even one of them. Squalo hardly dared to hope that they could have finally found a Varia Quality hair dresser. Lussuria looked as eager as a child in a candy shop. If the civilian did as good a job of cutting hair as he did at managing Bel, Squalo didn't put it past Lussuria to kidnap the poor man. He wasn't sure that hr would discourage him either. It would save him from having to drag Bel into town every time he needed a trim, and give Lussuria someone to babble about hair styles to.

"I can trim your bangs just enough to even them, so they're still well below eye level. I can thin the hair to make it easier for you to see, or I can leave it, whichever you prefer. And I can add some layers and texture to the rest of your hair, so it looks more stylishly messy. Will that work for you?"

Evans still sounded professional, and his voice didn't show any of the startled-bunny that was in his eyes. If Lussuria didn't kidnap him for his bedroom, Squalo might have to, just to figure out what he was hiding. Squalo growled as he realised how that sounded in his head, drawing a startled look from Lussuria, who giggled as soon as he saw Squalo's face. The swordsman knew he was blushing bright red, a drawback of his pale skin. He was not interested in keeping the pretty civilian man in his bedroom! He just wanted to know what the hell the man was hiding, since his background was obviously as fake as Squalo's own.

Bel had obviously found his new best friend, if his smiling and giggling was anything to go by. Years of experience had taught Squalo how to read Bel's face without the benefit of seeing his eyes, and that was a happy, friendly grin. The poor hairdresser was never going to escape the Varia now. Bel very rarely showed interest in anything that wasn't food, naps or his knives and wires, but the few things that caught his attention were given all the single-minded intensity a cat shows a mouse.

That was, the hairdresser had to survive the rest of the day before he needed to worry about catching the interest of a group of assassins. Not that that seemed to be a problem for the infuriatingly intriguing civilian. He dodged the knife Bel threw like a professional (who did the background check? Squalo made a mental note to track them down and kill them for sheer incompetence) and didn't run screaming for the door. Squalo felt like an idiot as he tuned back in to the situation. Why had he not predicted that Bel might react badly to being told to take the damn tiara off?

Squalo was not expecting Evans to glare at Bel like a parent facing a child who hadn't tidied their bedroom. "Prince Bel. You will put those away and you will take your crown off now. You are far too old to be throwing tantrums like this, and I won't have such immature unprincely behaviour in my salon."

Squalo whispered "Voi" under his breath. He was in awe, and maybe a little bit in love. The hairdresser clearly had balls of steel. The men knew exactly which buttons to push to get a reaction from Bel, after spending less than half an hour with him. Who had taught him to read people like that? This man was as much a civilian as Squalo himself.

And Bel listened. He took the damn crown off and sat down. Not even Mammon, the Varia member Bel liked best, could make Bel do that. Not even the Boss could have, some days. Bel was the only Varia member who had gotten away unharmed from disobeying the Boss, mainly because the man had a secret weakness for adorable, lethal things. But still, this tiny little thing had done what Boss couldn't, without a weapon. Once he was kidnapped – because it was a matter of when now, not if - Squalo was stealing him from Lussuria and making him Bel's babysitter. Somehow, he didn't think the prince would object.

Squalo sat in silence and watched the man work. He was quick and professional, making sure that Bel's hair was always covering his eyes and not trying any of that 'friendly conversation' that hairdressers liked and which had been the cause of more unpaid Varia assassinations than insulting the crazy prince. Assassins, especially ones already keyed up from being in such a vulnerable situation, were not generally fans of small talk. The movements of the civilian were quick and precise, strands of hair fluttering to the floor in a gentle cascade. Squalo wondered what Evans would look like with a sword in his hand. All that restrained power was wasted on scissors.

Lussuria started his twittering as he admired Bel's new look. Squalo could admit that it was neater than it had been, but he didn't see anything all that special about it. He was more focussed on Evans than on Lussuria, enough that he could actual tune out the irritating martial artist. The haircut was finished quickly, and Bel seemed to like it, given the way he was flipping it in the mirror like a model for a shampoo commercial. After giving Lussuria enough time to pay the man and make whatever excuses for their behaviour he needed to, Squalo dragged Bel out the door. He needed to do more research on Harry Evans.

* * *

So here is the revised chapter one! Sorry this has taken so long. I hope it reads better than before.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was the only person working when a Varia member next visited the salon. There were only four people who worked there anyway, so he was used to not having much company while he worked. He liked it that way; it meant that he was familiar with everyone he was expected to interact with on a regular basis. He was used to working around them, so they didn't set off his war-honed reflexes like working with strangers would. That particular night, Daniela was off sick, it was Alberto's day off and Emilia had vanished again. It was a slow day anyway, so it wasn't too much for Harry to handle by himself. He was just seeing off the last customer of the day when the flamboyant green-haired man from a couple of weeks ago flounced in, clutching a bag, wailing, and drenched in blood. The leaving customer dashed for the door, squeezing against the wall to avoid brushing against the strange man. Harry sighed and flipped the sign on the door to 'Closed'. He could sense that this was going to be a long job, and he could feel his chances of a relaxing bath and an early night fading away with every drop of blood that plopped down onto the floor.

"How can I help you? I'm afraid I didn't catch your name last time,' Harry said with his best dealing-with-the-customer smile as he showed the man to the sofas. He even managed not to wince at the blood that was smeared all over them as the man flung himself down dramatically, posing like he expected a cameraman with a taste for the macabre and bizarre to be wandering by. Years spent scrubbing the blood from his nosebleeds and skinned knees out from carpets and sofas, lest he face the wrath of Aunt Petunia, had made him very aware of exactly how hard it would be to get the sofas back to their former cream colour. They would probably have to be replaced.

"I'm Lussuria! Did I not introduce myself last time? How rude of me, I'm so embarrassed! And it's simply dreadful. That awful man bled all over me; the uniform is probably ruined! Can you believe his nerve? Some people just refuse to die neatly, it's so inconsiderate. I have no idea how to get all of this filth out of my hair without using peroxide, which would be awful. I can't bleach my hair, Harry-chan! It would take weeks to get it back to fabulous again, and I can't spend weeks with hair like straw. It's just unbearable, I'm shuddering thinking about it. And Bel cut it! Cut it! I told that little menace to be careful with his knives, but will he listen? I can't go back to headquarters with my hair like this! It's a disaster." Lussuria sobbed theatrically, pulling a blood-soaked handkerchief from a pocket and wringing it out before using it to wipe the blood from his face. In the end, it smeared across his face like war paint.

Harry took a deep breath and shifted to mission mode, picking out the useful information from Lussuria's disturbing speech and putting aside the things that he really didn't want to think about. Even wandless, he was confident in his ability to take down a muggle, but he really didn't need to have it confirmed that he was dealing with a murderer. He knew that the war had skewed both his morality and his sense of self-preservation, but that didn't mean he was thrilled to be helping a man whose biggest problem with a violent death was staining his clothes. Harry steered his mind away from questions of morality with the ease of practice, focussing on what needed to be done.

"You need to get clean then. Do you have a change of clothes? I don't think any of my spares will fit you." That was an understatement. Harry was five foot five and skinny as a twig, whereas Lussuria was at least six foot and built like a bodybuilder. There was no way he would be able to squeeze into even Harry's drawstring sweatpants.

Lussuria held up his bag with a triumphant grin. Obviously, he had come prepared. Had he expected to end up soaked in blood? Harry really didn't want to know. Without any warning, Lussuria started to wriggle out of his bloodstained leather, letting the clothes drop to the floor with a wet slap. Harry just turned his back politely. Living in a dorm with communal showers, and then fighting in war with limited bathing facilities, had pretty much removed his body shyness. Besides, with people like Lussuria, showing a reaction like embarrassment or anger was like throwing fuel on a fire. He seemed like the Weasley twins in that way. His suspicions were confirmed when Lussuria pouted at his lack of reaction after he turned back around. Had he been expecting Harry to blush and faint? He hoped it had just been innocent teasing, rather than a serious test. He was not in the mood for mind games.

Harry was glad to see that Lussuria was wearing boxers and a tank top even before he put on whatever was in the bag, and that despite the mess his clothes had been he himself was mostly blood-free. Harry handed him a damp cloth to wipe away the little blood that had made it past the leather, while he took the leather clothes himself. The coppery scent was overpowering, and the feel of blood of his hands was instantly familiar. He took shallow breaths through his mouth and forced his mind to stay in the present.

"Do you want me to try to clean these here, or do you want to take them to a professional?" He was willing to give cleaning them a try, but he really hoped Lussuria didn't want him to. Getting blood out of leather was a nightmare. By the end of the war, they had all given up on wearing clothes that couldn't be easily washed or replaced. Apart from the Weasley twins, who clung to their dragon-hide jackets with a fierce possessiveness that was somewhat disturbing.

"Don't worry about it, Harry-chan, I'll have someone take care of it. Could you just put it in a bag for me, pretty please?"

The sight of him batting his eyelashes was just disturbing, as was his instance on using a Japanese suffix, especially one Harry was fairly sure was for girls. Who used Japanese in the middle of Italy? Harry chose not to assume that Lussuria actually meant to call him a girl as he dumped the clothes in a plastic bag, and then in another to make sure nothing leaked. In the war, his allies had mocked his girly looks once. Just once. Everyone agreed afterwards that McLaggen wasn't worth wasting the healing potions on, and the broken jaw healed fine without them anyway. Eventually. Mostly. If it made it a little harder for the obnoxious teen to talk, who was complaining?

With Lussuria's clothes sorted, Harry turned back to his customer. Except for his hair, he was pretty much clean now, and redressing himself in a uniform that was identical to the first. Minus the bloodstains, to Harry's relief. That meant it was time to get to his actual job.

"So what do you want doing with your hair today?" After the incredibly unusual start to the appointment, it felt almost surreal to fall back on the standard lines.

"I need this mess cleaning. And restyling. Can you even up the mess that little monster made?"

Harry couldn't tell what the damage might be under all of the blood, but he was sure that he could work something out. As he smiled and reassured Lussuria (Lust? Really? As fake names went, it wasn't even subtle, and he didn't want to think about what the man had done to earn it), he ran through his options in his head. He would rather stick with muggle options, but he would probably have to use a potion to clean the blood out. Muggle shampoo just wasn't designed to deal with that level of filth. It was a good thing he wasn't squeamish anymore, because he was fairly sure that there was some brain tissue stuck in Lussuria's hair. The man shouldn't notice that he was using a potion instead of normal hair product - it was in a generic shampoo bottle. And restyling the hair shouldn't be a problem, no matter what the crazy prince had done to it. He couldn't see any major damage through the muck coating the hair, so it couldn't be too bad.

Harry got Lussuria settled in a chair and prepared to wash his hair.

"I don't need to see you to kill you, you know," the man warned as he took off his glasses. His tone was joking, but Harry had no doubt that he was deadly serious. The blood drenching him had been a hint that the man might be dangerous, although nowhere near as dangerous as Harry himself. His Gryffindor curiosity was burning him fiercely about these people, and only his Slytherin survival instincts were keeping his mouth shut. The war had taught him to temper his curiosity with caution, and he got the feeling that knowing more about these people would cause him more problems than he wanted to deal with.

"I'm sure. I have a shampoo that will clean the blood out. It's a lot gentler than peroxide, but it will still remove the colour of the dye, leaving the hair its natural brunet. Would you like me to leave it like that, or to re-dye your hair today? I have quite a few greens to choose from, or other colours if you feel like a change. Perhaps a nice bright yellow?"

Harry wasn't quite sure why he recommended yellow, instead of more common hair dyes like blue or purple. Yellow wouldn't take well on brunet hair anyway. To get a nice bright yellow, he would have to bleach the hair first, which Lussuria had already said he didn't want. The suggestion seemed to be a bad move, given the way Lussuria stiffened.

"Why yellow?" His voice was completely serious, no trilling or flirting. The contrast was startling, and disconcerting.

"For your sunny personality? If you don't think that it would suit you, there are a lot of other colours to choose from." Harry tried to placate the suddenly intimidating customer, hoping to smooth over whatever offence he had inadvertently caused. Truthfully, he was regretting offering the dye, but yellow just seemed to be so much Lussuria's colour that he had suggested it without thinking. He wasn't sure why. The man wasn't wearing any yellow, and he hadn't been the last time Harry had seen him either.

"I'll stick with green, thank you Harry-chan." Although the flamboyant persona was back, the man didn't relax as Harry finished washing his hair and the last of the pink (and disturbingly lumpy) water washed down the drain. Harry had to resist the urge to offer a massage, his muscles were so tensely knotted. Although, given the way his last offer had gone across, he was probably better off keeping his mouth shut.

Harry tried to figure out his mistake as he dried Lussuria's hair. Did the man not like yellow? It wasn't a common colour for hair dye, but the man was the furthest thing from conventional Harry had ever seen, so Harry hadn't thought he'd find the idea offensive. Maybe he was just attached to the green? Or did he think it meant that Harry hadn't been listening when he said he didn't want it bleached? Whatever it was, Harry hoped the man got over it soon. He was sure he could take the man, even with his wand in his bag in the back room, but he still found the man's dangerous aura unsettling.

Lussuria's hair was quite short, so it didn't take long to dry. Now that it was clean, Harry could see where the front part of his fringe had been cut off. If this had been done by the teenage prince's knives, the man was lucky not to have lost an eye. Lucky or skilled. Dodging was probably a required skill for entrance into whatever they were involved in, given that it involved working with homicidal teenagers and murdering people in bloody ways. Strangely, it was the fact that they provided a uniform that bothered Harry most. Or perhaps not so strangely. It meant that whatever Lussuria was involved in, it was organised. That made it far more of a threat than a few lone weirdos, and solidified Harry's desire to have nothing to do with them at all.

Harry quickly got to work evening out the hair, trimming and reshaping the fringe slightly rather than removing length from the whole thing. The front of the fringe had been longer than the rest originally, so it wasn't as hard as he had feared it would be. Once he had finished, he left Lussuria cooing at the result in the mirror while he went to fetch the book of dye colours. He could feel Lussuria's eyes on him, and he had no doubt the man was watching him using the mirror. That meant he didn't want to duck into the back room and grab his wand; it would only make the man suspicious. Besides, Lussuria hadn't made any threatening moves, and seemed pleased with the work Harry had done. Sometimes the ingrained paranoia was a pain, although he wasn't surprised the strange killer was setting off every instinct he had. That relaxing bath he had been planning on was calling to him. He would have to indulge himself no matter how late he got home, unless he wanted to be a twitchy wreck tomorrow.

Lussuria quickly picked out the emerald green colour that he wanted and Harry applied it using quick, neat brushstrokes. Compared to complicated spellwork, this was child's play. His habitual use of magic prevented it dripping or smearing onto Lussuria's skin or the shaved part of his head. It also meant that the developing time was cut in half compared to muggle dyes, so it wasn't long before he was rinsing the dye out, drying the hair again, and styling the fringe with muggle products to give it the volume that Lussuria asked for. When he'd finished, Lussuria was declaring his new look 'absolutely fabulous, Harry-chan, you're a miracle worker!'

As Harry turned to lead the man to the desk to pay, he felt a blinding pain in the back of his head. He collapsed to the floor, stunned. The world went black for a second, and when he came to Lussuria was kneeling over him with a syringe in hand. His legs were pinned in place by Lussuria's knees, and his wrists were held above his head in a bruising grip by one of Lussuria's hands. He realised that he had been foolish to discount Lussuria's physical strength and tried desperately to call on his magic to protect him, but it responded sluggishly and erratically. He heard a window shatter just before he felt the needle pierce the skin of his arm. His body suddenly felt like it was made of lead. His raised head fell back to the floor, smacking against the tiles. He couldn't even scream, he couldn't control his breathing, there wasn't enough air in his lungs. His dry eyes stared as Lussuria's hand came into his field of vision, and the world went dark.

* * *

There probably won't be any major plot changes here. I'm just fixing how badly written the first version was.


	3. Chapter 3

_Squalo was going to be so loud_ , Lussuria thought regretfully as he hauled the limp body out of the car and into the castle. He was so light! Was the poor thing not eating properly? If Harry-chan survived the next few days, Lussuria would change that, of course. He wouldn't stand for any of his ducklings not eating properly, even if it meant cooking for them himself. They were all such picky eaters! He still had nightmares about the week that Bel had decided he wouldn't eat anything other than sushi. Squalo had demolished half the mansion chasing after the silly Prince, after he taunted the Captain about eating his relatives. Compared to that, feeding the boy would easy. Besides, no matter how bad he was, the boy couldn't possibly be any fussier that Boss had been. Lussuria shook his head clear. He had explanations to prepare before he ran into the Captain.

Of course, luck just wasn't on his side. Squalo was standing in the entryway as he walked in, leaning against a wall and tapping his fingers against his mechanical arm.

"Voi!" he bellowed as soon as he caught sight of Lussuria. "Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to be back hours ago!"

"Sorry, Squ-chan!" Lussuria trilled. "I got a little distracted with-"

"Voi!" Squalo interrupted. "Who the hell is that?" He had just caught sight of the cute hairdresser slung over Lussuria's shoulder, with a scarf tied round his eyes and headphones over his ears.

"Don't you recognise cute little Harry-chan? Bel ruined my hair this morning, and then I got blood matted in it during the mission, so I had to get it sorted out before I got back. That mess wasn't Quality at all." Sometimes invoking Quality was enough to calm Squalo down. Not today.

"Why is he here? I said we weren't going to touch him until Mammon had a chance to investigate! Why the hell did you think that bringing a potentially hostile unknown to Headquarters was a good idea? Has that hair dye rotted your brain?"

"That was uncalled for!" Lussuria snapped. He was proud of his hair. Squalo looked unimpressed.

"Let me get him secure first," Lussuria said. "The muscle relaxant was calculated for a small fifteen year old, not for an adult."

Squalo huffed, but acknowledged the sense in what he was saying. He turned on his heel and strode back into the mansion, hair flying like a banner before him. Lussuria took the opportunity to ogle the Captain's behind as he followed him to the Officer's wing. He might be loud, fussy, and utterly devoted to another man, but that didn't stop Squalo from being utterly delicious.

Lussuria was a little surprised that Squalo wanted to stash their little guest in the Cloud Officer's room, though. They had perfectly adequate dungeons and interrogation rooms. Nevertheless, he laid the young man carefully on the bed, making sure the scarf stayed in place and the headphones stayed on. He wasn't unconscious, after all, and Lussuria didn't want him to see or hear anything he shouldn't. Squalo located the handcuffs and chains that came with every Varia bedroom, and secured Evans to the bed, wrists and ankles locked tightly to the solid steel bedframe. Lussuria had felt the man's strength when he subdued him; there was no way he would be able to get himself free even if he could ignore the head injury and shake off the drug that was keeping him immobile.

Squalo phoned for a Rain Squad member to watch the man and let them know if he woke up, before striding back out the room and leading the way to his own, just down the hall. He gestured for Lussuria to sit in the only chair, before leaning against the wall and raising an eyebrow, obviously waiting for Lussuria to explain.

"I may have had a little too much fun with that cute bodyguard," Lussuria admitted. "My hair was so filthy! Last time it got so messy, it took a week to get it back to normal. And Bel cut it! I had to get it neatened up, it was an embarrassment. I couldn't think of another hairdresser that would deal with it."

"Why were you fighting with Bel anyway?" Squalo asked, momentarily side-tracked.

"I needed one of his knives for the mission. You know how precious that boy is about his things. I did ask at Weapons Development, but they didn't have any spares. Bel threw one at me – the one that cut my gorgeous hair – and I took it with me."

Squalo sighed, well-used to his co-workers' antics by now, and gestured for Lussuria to continue.

"You didn't see him, Squ-chan! He didn't even flinch at all the blood covering my fabulous uniform. And besides, he was taunting me! A civilian shouldn't know about Flames."

"He knows about flames?" Squalo was suddenly focussed. Even among the Mafia, information about Flames was closely guarded. If Evans somehow knew about them, then that combined with his false background could make him very dangerous indeed.

"He suggested yellow hair dye to match my 'sunny personality'. Yellow isn't a common hair dye, Squ-chan. More than that, it's incredibly difficult to get good results with yellow dye on brown hair, and only a complete amateur would recommend it to a brunet that hadn't specifically asked for it. He took a teasing threat as a genuine warning – you know that civilians don't have the sense to be threatened – and he didn't even have the courtesy to be scared!" Lussuria pouted. He prided himself on his ability to be both fabulous and threatening. "He wasn't upset, disgusted or even disconcerted by the blood and tissue on my uniform and hair." Lussuria winced slightly at the thought of how much Mammon would charge for replacing the uniform.

"So you decided that kidnapping him was the best option?" Squalo still sounded irritated, but no longer murderous. He sat down on the bed, so that he was no longer looming over Lussuria.

"I may have been a little hasty, but it seemed like the only way to be safe. If he was a threat, we couldn't take the risk of him getting spooked and running back to his employers, could we Squ-chan?"

"Voi! Stop it with the nickname!" Squalo bellowed.

Lussuria breathed a sigh of relief. If he was irritated with a little thing like that, he was no longer in his dangerous Captain mode.

"How did you take him down?" Squalo asked.

"A blow to the head to stun him, and a syringe full of muscle relaxant to keep him. I closed his eyes so he couldn't see anything, tied my scarf around his head to make sure, and put my headphones on him so he couldn't hear. I hope he likes Lady Gaga," Lussuria smirked as Squalo winced. He knew that the Captain would rather take Bel clothes shopping than listen to Lady Gaga.

"His eyes are gorgeous, you know. If we need to get rid of him, can I keep them?"

Squalo ignored him with the ease of practice. No one asked for clarification when Lussuria mentioned his fetishes. The last recruit to have tried it had retired the next day. Given that a Varia retirement involved a bullet in the head, it had discouraged everyone else from asking questions. Lussuria pouted a little that Squalo refused to rise the bait, but he didn't push it. The hairdresser was the important thing at the moment.

"Voi!" Squalo roared suddenly, making Lussuria jump. "Where did you get the drug from in the first place? You were only supposed to take one with you, and it should have been used for the mission." His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Lussuria winced. "The boy committed suicide before I could get to him," he admitted. He hurried on at Squalo's scowl. "His bodyguards were tougher than I expected, Squ-chan! I may have gotten a teensy bit distracted by one of them – you would have too, his muscles were just divine! – and by the time I'd finished, the boy had cut his own throat. Guess he knew what was coming."

Squalo sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Did you at least finish the mission?"

"Of course, Squalo!" Lussuria was offended. "His corpse is nicely mangled, but still recognisable. The throat slash just looks like part of the pattern. Bel's knife did the job wonderfully."

The Varia didn't skimp on equipment, even the custom things like his knee and Squalo's sword-hand. Bel's knives were no exception. The Prince designed them himself, and they could cut through solid steel. They were the Varia; the law was their bitch. The laws of Physics were no exception.

"Still," Squalo said with a vindictive smile. "You didn't fulfil the brief completely, which means you'll be marked down. Looks like Bel will be winning this month's Paint the Walls Challenge."

Paint The Walls meant a mission where killing as messily and obviously as possibly was the goal. Bel and Lussuria were the only Officers who actually enjoyed missions like that, and they competed to see who could make the most grotesque scene. The competition had started as unofficial bragging over their kills, but had slowly morphed into a genuine contest. It was as close as the Varia came to healthy competition. Squalo, Levi and Mammon scored each assassination from photos the Varia member took of the scene. Bel normally scored more points for creative kills and originality, where Lussuria was an expert at displaying the bodies and sheer brutality. Before the mission today, Bel had been just slightly in the lead. Lussuria knew that his screw-up would put him so far behind there was no chance he would be able to catch up. Bel would be even more insufferable then normal. Lussuria resigned himself to tidying the Prince's room or baking him cake or whatever he came up with a penalty, as well as paying the fee for Mammon's judging. It wouldn't a contest if there wasn't a forfeit for the loser, after all.

Squalo laughed obnoxiously at the dismay on Lussuria's face. Lussuria knew that the Captain didn't care all that much about the contest except that it kept Bel happy and entertained, and it gave Lussuria an outlet for some of his more disturbing urges. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the misery of the loser. Lussuria normally made Bel model clothes for him, something that Bel professed to hate but not-so-secretly enjoyed. If Lussuria was in a particularly petty mood, he made Bel do laundry for him. The first time, Bel had dyed everything pink by accident. Lussuria had known it was an accident by the almighty tantrum Bel had thrown when Levi accused him of doing it on purpose. Spoiled Bel might be, but he honoured the rules of the Varia, both official and unspoken.

Lussuria was just about to snap at Squalo when he heard the Captain's phone ring.

"Voi!" Squalo yelled, probably deafening the poor person on the other end. He listened for a moment before snapping the phone closed and turning to Lussuria.

"The hairdresser is waking up. You said you hit his head?"

Lussuria nodded.

"Call a medic, have them on standby for after our little talk with our guest."

Lussuria made the call, letting the medic on duty know the situation, before he followed Squalo out of the room and down the hall. Depending on how the talk went, the medic might not be needed. Dead men didn't need doctors.


End file.
